Threshold
by Ryla Dante
Summary: No jobs are ever random. The boys find that out the hard way when a recent job gets personal. Can Dean save his brother, or will the spirit torture Sam to death? Longer synopsis inside. Set during Season 2. Warning: language and strong violence to come
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: I have been working on this for a **long** time now, and I have to thank someone who is helping me tremendously with it. Without her help I would still be staring at a blank monitor. sendintheclowns! Lisa, you are the best Beta a girl could ask for.

Now about this story: It is set during S2, right directly after 'Bloodlust' The reason for this is because of how the storyline is going, I need the tension between the brothers that only John's recent death could give me. The basics of the story is that Sam and Dean are on a job in Vermillion, Ohio. At first it seems random, but once things begin to fall into place, the boys realize they are dealing with a vengeful, vindictive, and ruthless ghost. Nothing is what it seems, and when Sam becomes a victim of this spirit, Dean must struggle to find him, but when he does will it be in time?

The story is based on somewhat true events that happened in Vermillion, Ohio over a century ago at the Gore Orphanage. That is all I can tell without getting too into anything. Let's just say that what happened there left some very angry ghosts.

I hope you enjoy what I have thus far. Please review, I really look forward to what ya'll have to say. :)

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the plot. If I had the rights to SPN I'd be a hell of a lot richer and a hell of a lot happier. Alas I am neither, so I am stuck doing this :(

* * *

Vermillion, Ohio

One Week Ago

"Shit."

Aidan Moriarty hit the steering wheel of his car hard. He stared at the 'Dead End' sign that had somehow popped out of nowhere. Aidan had been driving down this winding road for the longest time, and there had been no warning that it was going to end until now. Where were the markers up until this point?

Aidan put the car in reverse and spun around, catching a patch of gravel as he did. The rocks clanged against the sign making him jump. He shook it off and continued in the other direction.

A short time later he made it back to the very same bridge he had come across before. Yet this time something made him drive much slower. There was an eery feeling about his surroundings. Something just seemed off.

As he made his way across the bridge his car began to sputter and the dash lights flickered furiously. Finally the car quit on him, right in the middle of the bridge. Aidan sighed heavily and then grabbed his flashlight from the backseat. He popped the hood and stepped out.

"Damned foreign vehicles."

Aidan kicked the car's front tire in frustration. Training the light on the hood, he lifted it, and then angled himself the best he could so as to see what might have gone wrong. He shined the light on all the obvious items and nothing seemed to have come undone or broken. As he pulled back from the car in disgust he noticed something on the air filter unit. Aidan leaned in closer and noticed a dark substance on the outside lip. Upon touching it he could tell that it was ash. Yanking the lid off, a black cloud of smoke billowed into his face causing him to cough.

"What the hell?"

Aidan wiped at his face trying to get what ash off he could. He replaced the lid of the filter and then slammed the hood down. His light landed on the hood of the car. Aidan took a step back when he saw an imprint. Training the light on it, he swallowed hard. It was a child's hand print, and it was fresh.

Aidan spun around, the light dancing wildly in the darkness. There was nothing there. Rushing back to his car he fumbled with his keys. Even if his car was not going to start, he was not about to stay out in the pitch black with whatever the hell was out there.

As he fought to get the right key in the lock, a loud scream pierced through the night. Aidan spun back around and his heart almost stopped. Standing in front of his car was a small child. He looked lost and frightened. He had his hand out beckoning Aidan forward. At this point Aidan was lucky to be able to breathe let alone move.

"Who…Who are you?"

The boy said nothing but continued to motion for Aidan to follow him. Aidan took a deep breath. Even though it was odd for a small boy to be out in the darkness by himself, there was a mark of desperation about the boy that made Aidan want to follow. The boy nodded as if he had read Aidan's mind and hurried off down the road. Aidan shook his head at how crazy this was and dashed after him.

Clinging to his knees and panting like a dog, Aidan came to a stop. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Aidan couldn't even hear him as he ran after him. Apparently the child knew the area well enough to keep so far ahead.

Aidan stood up and caught sight of a large stone building. It loomed over him with an evil presence. The 19th century façade was intimidating to say the least. Aidan was about ready to turn back when he saw the very same young boy slip into the front doors.

"Damn it, what the hell am I doing?"

Aidan placed his hand to his face. He stared at the large structure and then followed after the child. Once inside he saw how decrepit the place really was. From the outside you couldn't really see all that much, but inside the place was falling down. You had to be careful where you walked or you would fall through the floor into a possible basement below. Aidan was awed by the once original woodwork which offset the gothic architecture. To his left was a grand set of stairs that were eaten almost all the way through by termites. It was terrible that someone would let a place like this go despite the vibes it gave off.

Creeping past a visible hole in the floor, Aidan made it into the next room. He spotted the small boy who darted off down a long hallway. This hide and seek business was beginning to grate on his nerves. Taking another step forward he heard laughter coming from somewhere up ahead.

Aidan shined the light in the direction he assumed the sound came from and it instantly went out. He cursed, banging it against his hand. After three tries the light failed to come back on. Aidan grunted. Now he was stuck in the dark with a child who thought it wise to play peek-a-boo.

He suddenly felt something grip his arm. Not wanting to know what it was, he turned and ran for the front doors, not even thinking about avoiding the broken floor.

Almost slamming into the doors, Aidan attempted to pull them open, but nothing happened. He yanked, kicked and scratched but to no avail. They had somehow latched from the outside.

He stopped his struggle when a low voice behind him spoke.

"We've been expecting you…"

XXXX

St. Louis, Missouri

One Week Later

The drive to Missouri was mostly uneventful. The radio stations Dean could pick up were either country of evangelical bible thumpers. He was in no mood for either. After a few hours he had run through most of his tapes and was getting bored with the monotony. He would glance at Sam on occasion who had his iPod going most of the trip. The boy certainly could occupy himself. Dean watched him fiddle with the buttons until he was happy with a selection and then glanced out the window at the passing trees.

The older hunter returned his attention back to the road, although his mind was not really on his driving. He was still back at Red Lodge drinking beer with Gordon. He had been wrong to assume Gordon would be a decent replacement for John. Sam was right on that one. Dean was just filling a hole the size of Texas with the closest available person. Sam couldn't even come close to knowing what that was like. Yeah they had both been raised by the same arrogant asshole, but Sam never saw what Dean did. Never knew the hell he went through for that man. He was daddy's little soldier until the end. Despite all that, he loved the man. How screwed up was that?

Sam sat in silence for a moment when he decided that his iPod was getting to him, so he decided to pick something else. He yanked a tape out of the glove box and popped it in. Dean could hear the lyrics of 'Carry on My Wayward Son' filtering through the car. He stared at the stereo a moment then hit the eject button. He glanced at his brother and then tossed the tape into the back seat.

"Dude, what was that about?"

Sam watched the tape sail onto the back seat. Dean scowled.

"What possessed you to play that? I mean seriously."

Sam shrugged. He thumbed at his iPod absent mindedly.

"I don't know, it just reminds me of Dad is all. I just thought…"

Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than he would have liked.

"Sam, I understand you miss the big guy, but don't _ever_ do that again. Got it?"

It wasn't just Dean's words that upset Sam; it was his demeanor. His brother had been tense ever since the day John had died, and with good reason, but for him to take it out on Sam wasn't the right way to do it.

"Sorry Dean. I got it."

Dean nodded and pressed down on the accelerator causing Sam to be slammed back against his seat. This was going to be one hell of a road trip.

XXXX

"Like a true nature's child, we were born, born to be wild!"

Dean banged his hands to Steppenwolf, the earbuds securely in place. He had swiped Sam's iPod while he was taking a shower and decided to do a little spring cleaning on it. Oh well, Sam could always get a new one. It had taken him quite a bit to figure out the buttons, but once he did, it was worth it. The thing kicked ass.

"I never wanna die…"

The instrumental section ripped through his ears and he banged his head back and forth, unknowing that Sam was heading toward his bed. Sam also didn't know that Dean was prepared for this, at least in a sense.

Sam watched Dean a moment as he thrashed like a seizure victim and tapped him on the shoulder. Dean leapt up, his Desert Eagle gripped tightly in his left hand. Sam threw his hands up, at first in shock, then in mock horror.

"Okay Dean I give, I was the 2nd gunman on the grassy knoll."

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped the gun. He yanked the earbuds from his ears and shook his head. Sam flopped down on his bed.

"Well, it's official. You have been hanging with me _way_ too long. And besides, there _was_ a 2nd gunman in Dallas that day."

Sam turned to his brother, an eyebrow raised.

"You really believe that the FBI has been covering up the 2nd gunman theory by the use of Oswald as a patsy? You're nuts."

Dean chuckled.

"Sam Winchester, a Doubting Thomas? You believe in ghosts, demons and vampires. How can you not believe this?"

Sam sighed heavily.

"Whatever."

Dean replied mockingly.

"Whatever."

Dean placed the iPod on the end table and received a stare from Sam.

"Dean, what are you doing with that?

Dean leaned on his knees and chuckled.

"Well since I figured out how to get all that emo crap off it, it actually serves a purpose. But dude, I mean, James Blunt, John Mayer, and Jason Manns. Could you be more gay?"

Sam shook his head and said nothing.

That Night

Dean was perched on the end of his bed, the TV set on to some nature channel. He was leaning on his left hand, his right held the remote. His eyes were half closed, only barely able to see a hyena stalking some unsuspecting wildebeest.

"Heh, I bet you five bucks beasty bites it."

No one answered him, seeing as Sam was out getting coffee and sandwiches. He preferred to be alone right now so the excuse of getting sustenance was a good one.

Sam stood in the small café waiting at the counter. It was lunchtime and the young woman behind the counter was flittering around like a hummingbird. She dashed from customer to customer. The small bell rang and a man would yell 'order up'. She would spin around and grab various plates and slam them down on the faux marble.

Sam finally caught her eye and placed his order. She nodded, trying to write it all down. Sam smiled sadly. _Poor girl_.

As she hurried off after another patron, Sam heard the TV which was locked in on MSNBC. He tried his best to listen to what was being said, but it was hard over the hustle and bustle of the place. Finally he took it upon himself to turn the set up.

"Breaking news this hour. In the town of Vermillion, Ohio a search party has been under way for an Aidan Moriarty. The 25 year old has been missing for nearly a week authorities say. He was last seen by his wife, Lisa, at their home on the 6th of October. He had gone out to pick something up at his office and hasn't been heard or seen from since.

Moriarty's car was found abandoned on Vermillion River Bridge in perfect condition. Foul play has not been cited as the cause of his disappearance yet. Apparently Moriarty is the fifth person to go missing from Vermillion in just over two years. Authorities are taking this case very seriously at this time."

The woman continued on but Sam was already in his own little world. When the waitress came back with his order, he barely registered her.

"Sir, I said 'here's your order'."

Sam snapped back to reality and thanked her. He paid her and ran out of the front doors letting them crash behind him.

XXXX

"No, you can't let him treat you like that. Girl, what were you thinking?"

The door opened and the TV instantly turned off. Dean smiled.

"You didn't see that did you? Cause I swear this remote sticks."

He smacked the remote to illustrate his point. Sam ignored him and tossed the food onto a small table. Flopping down beside Dean, who grunted in response to the intrusion, he shoved his notebook in front of the man's face.

"I got this from a TV report. Read it."

Dean made a face, but did as he was told. Scanning through it, he shrugged.

"First off, your penmanship could use some work. You write like a doctor. Second, did they mention anything about the people being connected in any way? Cause it could just be random, Sam."

Sam gave his brother a look.

"Dean, in our line of work, when has anything ever been random?"

Dean had to give him that one. Nothing could ever be taken for granted, no matter how simple it looked. A few missing people could be simply that, but what if wasn't? They needed to delve into the situation a bit more before letting it slide, just in case.

"Okay fine, let's check it out, see what's going on."

Sam looked at his watch. It would take them approximately eight hours to get to Vermillion from where they were right now. Though with the way Dean drove it might only take half that.

"Okay, if we leave now we can be there by six."

Dean nodded. This would have to be some sort of record for them. Only a few hours and they were off again. The motel clerk was going to have a field day with this one.

XXXX

Vermillion, Ohio

Several hours later the car came to a stop at their new motel. Dean nudged his brother who had slept for the last leg of the trip. Snorting, he sat up. He wiped at his face and glanced out the car window.

"Are we there?"

Dean turned the car off, rolling his eyes as he did so.

"No, actually this is just the transitional period before 'there.' Yes of course we're there."

Sam squinted his eyes, his eyebrows almost touching. His lips were pursed to where he looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

"Sam, you truly have perfected the bitch face, haven't you?"

Sam huffed. Dean was smiling.

"Yeah, well, you seemed to have turned asshole into an art form."

Dean placed a hand to his chest, pretending to be wounded by the retort.

"Ooh, ouch. Score one for college boy."

Sam threw open his door and slammed it in Dean's face. Dean bit his top lip. _Way to go Dean._

Dean stepped out of the car and moved around the opposite side of the car. Sam was leaning against his door staring off in the distance.

"You know, maybe I should cash in on that rain check."

Dean grit his teeth. This was steadily going downhill and fast. He had to do something before Sam pulled a vanishing act on him again.

"Sam, listen I'm sorry. Can we just get back to the job instead of throwing verbal punches at each other?"

Sam shrugged.

"It would be a nice change from the physical ones right?"

Now Dean was ready to lose it. His brother was acting like a child all of a sudden and there was nothing to warrant it.

"You miss him I get it, but we've already been through this. We have a job to do, can we just…"

Sam turned to face him a cold look in place of the sour one.

"This has nothing to do with Dad. I just…you know what? You're right. Let's just get to work."

He stormed off toward the motel office to check in leaving Dean rubbing his forehead.

XXXX

It didn't take them much searching at all to get Aidan Moriarty's address. All they needed was a phone book. There had been at least eight Aidan Moriarty's. After sending a pissed off Sam out like a blood hound, they finally got the right one on the fifth try.

"Look, I already told every other officer and wanna be Colombo that I didn't have anything else to say. Now please get off my porch."

Lisa Moriarty nearly slammed the door on Dean's hand, but he was able to wedge his badge between the trim. A huff filtered into the evening air. The door swung back open.

"I thought I told you to…"

Dean held up his hand.

"Ma'am please, we're not here to cause any trouble. We only want to talk."

He showed her his badge. She eyed it cautiously. Since the FBI wanted to speak to her, it must have meant business. She stepped out of the way and let him and Sam into the front hallway apologizing as she did so. Dean shook his head.

"No apologies necessary ma'am. In this situation, things get difficult, and you feel it best to be left alone."

Lisa nodded as she led them to her cramped living room. Sam wormed his way past a cat that thought it necessary to spin through his long legs. He nearly toppled into the young woman's back. Dean snickered.

"Darren, stop that. Forgive him. He loves company and just goes a little crazy."

Dean bit back a comment. Under normal circumstances he would have said it, but this wasn't quite normal.

"So, ma'am…"

Lisa stopped Dean before he could say another word.

"Okay, before we go any further here, stop with that ma'am crap. My name is Lisa and I am far from ma'am status. Got it?"

Dean nodded hard.

"Yes ma…I mean Lisa. Now I am Agent Somerset and this is my partner Agent Mills. I know that you really would rather be alone right now, but I want to ask you a few questions about your husband. Has he ever gone missing like this before?"

Lisa shook her head.

"No never. We only just moved here six months ago. This place is supposed to be quiet and good to raise children in. I only just found out I was pregnant before we moved, which made Aidan happier than you could imagine. He would never take off on his family like that; he knows what it's like to not have a family growing up."

Lisa rubbed her stomach and then stared off. Dean swallowed hard, biting back tears. He wasn't the crying type, but the words hit a spot in his heart he wasn't ready to expose to anyone, not even Sammy.

"Um, Lisa, what do you mean by that exactly?"

She glanced up at him.

"Well, when Aidan was 10 years old, his parents were killed in an auto accident. He was an instant orphan. His grandmother was the only parent he ever knew."

Sam and Dean just looked at each other. They themselves may not, technically, have been considered orphans at the age they were. But with Mary's early passing and John's recent demise, although their early feelings about him were torn, it certainly made them the poster children for orphans.

"Do you know where he could have gone?"

Lisa shook her head.

"Like I said, we just moved here a few months back. Aidan has his job here, but we really didn't get to know anyone yet."

Sam took down some notes.

"What was your husband's line of work?"

Lisa sighed.

"He_ is_ a teacher,"

Her voice lowered a touch as she corrected Sam's little slip. Dean caught it and smiled at the fact his brother was called out. She continued.

"And I highly doubt that a bunch of first graders know how to orchestrate a hit on someone."

Dean raised an eyebrow. He looked at Sam who only shrugged. Lisa shook her head.

"Sorry. When I get nervous I make weird jokes. But seriously, I don't think Aidan's disappearance was his own doing. It's been a week and he hasn't called me and that's not like him at all. If you can help me, I would greatly appreciate it. I just feel like this is all my fault."

Dean shook his head as he took her hand in his and caressed it gently.

"You did what you could Lisa. None of us can say for sure what's going to happen from one minute to the next, we can only hope that when it comes down it we are able to handle the outcome.

That put a small smile on her face. She thanked them and led them out.

On the way to their car, Sam was smiling. Dean looked over at him wondering if his brother had lost a marble or two.

"Um, okay, should I find the nearest nuthouse and make you a reservation?"

Sam shook his head. He leaned against the car, crossing his arms in front of him. He crooked his head toward the house.

"What you said in there, how'd you get so philosophical all of a sudden?"

Dean chuckled and pulled his jacket closer. The wind had begun to pick up.

"What? It's not like you hold a corner on the market or something. Give your brother some credit at least."

Sam sighed. He rubbed his hands together and then blew on them.

"Damn, did it just drop ten degrees or what? I mean when we got here it was crisp and all, but now it's downright freezing."

Dean scanned their surroundings for a source of the wind, but nothing was moving. The trees were eerily still and the leaves in neighboring lawns weren't moving. Something was off here. Yeah it was mid-October and it was bound to get a little nippy, but it felt like it was Christmas out there. Dean watched a little while longer when the sky slowly began to darken.

"Um, Sam…"

Sam looked up and gasped. What looked like smoke filtered through the clouds followed by a sickly sweet smell. Sam took a whiff and instantly gagged.

"Dean, do you…do you realize what that is?"

He nodded his hand at his nose, trying to block out the stench.

"Yeah. It smells like human flesh, _burnt_ human flesh."

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, I am sorry this chapter was _way _long, but there are many things here that are needed for what comes later. This chapter was mainly talky, sorry for that. There should be more action to come once I get into chapter 2. Believe me I have a hell of lot of action coming, just not sure when I will be letting it loose.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter two is here. Again I thank sendintheclowns for her wonderful beta work. This girl is a lifesaver. I know she is probably sitting at home waving a fist at me for all this praise, but she deserves it. I need this help, hehe.

Okay, I give you a taste of the action in this chapter, and once we hit chapter three, everything goes to hell in a hand cart, hehe. So be prepared for a total angst ridden ride from here on out. With Limp!Sam and Worried!Dean, how could we not have all that?

Again, enjoy, and please review!

* * *

The ride down to the area that Aidan vanished from was interesting to say the least. The road curved like crazy, the trees hung over the road like something out of Sleepy Hollow, and mist enveloped the road making it almost impossible to see. It was nearly nine o'clock, but it looked so much darker. A full moon hung in the sky casting shadows as they drove. This area was the epitome of creepiness.

Sam scanned the map he printed out making sure they didn't miss a turn. That would have been dangerous in the best light. As they passed their first road, Dean had to chuckle.

"Sam, look at that. They named a road after me."

Sure enough there was a road sign that was labeled 'Dean Rd'. Sam simply rolled his eyes as they rolled through the small intersection and continued on.

It got darker as they ventured further in and much colder. Dean rolled his window up as the breeze slipped in. He shivered.

"Damn, this place would be the perfect setting for a Hollywood horror film. Don't even have to add anything."

As they came to the bridge the moon darted behind a cloud so fast, they were sure it had been scared of something. That was never a good sign. Dean coasted the car over the bridge, peaking through the metal support beams. Shadows bent and twisted as the Impala's headlights danced off the trees ahead. Even Sam was freaking out.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Could we go back to the motel and come back when it's light out or something."

Dean's eyes slid in Sam's direction. His face was struck with confusion.

"You're kidding right?"

Sam rubbed his arms, half-smiling as his did so. The temperature had dropped a good fifteen degrees since they came upon the bridge.

As they hit the middle of the bridge, the car began to sputter. Dean pulled back in shock. His car was always in perfect condition. Plus the fact that he had just done an overhaul on her, so there was no way she was about to conk out.

A loud choking sound came next. The engine lights flashed on and a beeping followed. Dean smacked the dash, when the whole car just gave out.

"Fuck!"

He threw open the door and slammed it hard. Sam stared a minute and exited the vehicle right behind him. He had no clue what was happening, couldn't help Dean anyway, but there was no use sitting in the car.

Dean glanced around, checking to see if anything otherworldly had ventured into their domain. It was hard to see anything from where he stood, and with the way the trees swayed anything could have been out there.

"What do you think Dean?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It could have been evil Ford nymphs for all I know. "

Sam made a face. Dean ignored him and felt for the hood lever and yanked it open.

He leaned in and began to examine her like a doctor. He poked and prodded, checking the spark plugs, the radiator fluid, and the oil. The engine wasn't overheating, the tranny was fine and the fan belt hadn't snapped.

Dean was ready to hit something, when he caught site of his air filter. It was covered with a black substance.

"What the hell?"

Sam peaked over Dean's shoulder, trying to get a better view. As Dean lifted the lid, they both got violated by a cloud of smoke. They coughed wildly and spit on the pavement.

"How did that happen?" Sam spoke as he wiped at his face. He could hear Dean slam the hood shut, cursing under his breath.

As Dean moved toward the trunk of the car to get a towel, Sam spotted something moving in the trees. It was hard to tell just what it was in the darkness. He stepped closer to get a better look, when a small child wandered out of the bushes. Sam's heart stopped.

The child looked as if he were in distress, his face paper thin, and his eyes sunken. His clothes were from the turn of the century and from what Sam could see looked incredibly burned.

The child's arm rose, beckoning Sam to follow him. He glanced back at his brother, who was back under the hood dealing with the air filter. Sam knew better than to ditch Dean like this, but there was something magnetic about the child.

The boy rushed off into the woods. Sam stood there a moment. This was ridiculous. He wasn't about to go hightailing it into the dark woods after some mysterious looking child without at least telling his brother. Shaking his head, he turned back and shouted at Dean.

"Hey, I found something. I'm going after it."

Dean spun around just in time to see Sam dashing off into the woods.

"Sam? Sammy!"

Dean grabbed his gun and a flashlight and took off after his brother.

XXXX

The mansion stood out like a sore thumb and made Sam wonder why it was still standing. He eyed it suspiciously. The 19th century beauty that mixed with the small gothic touches made his skin crawl. However there was something about it that made him move ever closer. It was like a train wreck, you just couldn't take your eyes off even though you know you should.

When Sam was ready to turn back, he spotted the small boy. The child stood on the large porch looking so forlorn. Sam again knew he should wait for Dean, but felt as if this child needed his help. He was torn. Taking a deep breath, he made his way onto the porch and followed the boy into the building.

Once inside, he realized he had come too far. The inside was in deep contrast to the outer shell. Everything was ready to collapse if you so much if breathed on it wrong. Sam had made a grave mistake, but it wasn't like it was his first, and probably wouldn't be his last.

He stepped forward and almost tripped over something solid. Looking down he spotted a flashlight. Staring at it dawned on him that this must have belonged to Aidan.

"Aidan Moriarty? Are you here?"

He clicked the light on, scanning his surroundings. Illuminating the place did not make it look any better; in fact it made it look creepier. Every shadow dipped and swayed looking alive. Sam swallowed hard.

He stepped forward, calling for Aidan as he did so. Stepping into what looked like the living room, he stopped in front of what used to be a beautiful fireplace. He knelt down in front of it and flashed the light inside it.

As he did, something shiny caught his eye. He reached inside and dug through the ash. Setting the light on the floor to get a better handle on the item, Sam yanked on it, but it was stuck. He tried again, and this time he pulled so hard he toppled backwards. Sitting up, he looked at what had given him such a hard time.

Sam gasped as he held an arm in his hands.

The skin was partially burned off and much of the bone was charred. What had caught his eye was a watch that was now melted into what skin was left.

Sam got his composure back and tugged at the watch. It popped off in his hands. On the underside he got the confirmation he needed. Aidan's name was inscribed on the back.

"Shit."

Sam threw the watch on the ground. They had been too late. Whatever happened here was a travesty, and sadly there was nothing either Sam or Dean could do about it.

As he stood to dust himself off, he could hear something shuffling off in the distance. Sam took a deep breath and followed the noise. In the next room he noticed the small boy pacing back and forth. Sam stepped up to him.

"Why did you bring me here?"

The boy stopped his movements and stared hard at Sam.

"You just don't understand, do you? No one ever does."

The small figure stepped closer to Sam. As he did laughter echoed throughout the room, and before Sam could even move, everything had gone black.

XXXX

Branches slapped him in the face, cutting into his skin. He sucked air between gritted teeth, but ignored the pain. He had to get his brother back before he hurt himself out in the woods alone.

The flashlight danced around wildly, catching a whole lot of nothing. He had no clue where Sam could have gone, and couldn't hear anything ahead of him. It was as if Sam had simply vanished. _Why the hell does he do that? One day curiosity is gonna get that boy killed._

More branches slapped at him, making him grunt. Dean swatted at them as he ran through a rather dense area. Fighting and cursing, he struggled to get past them. Finally getting through, he wound up in a large clearing. He breathed hard and felt as if he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

In front of him was some sort of foundation of an old building. Ivy and honeysuckle had grown over it years ago, making it hard to see. Dean scanned his light past the small cement blocks that were left and found a couple stone pillars. They were covered in graffiti.

Dean looked around, but saw nothing. Sam had somehow managed to slip past him, but how was beyond him. He yelled for Sam over and over, but the only response was the echo of his own voice. The only thing Dean could think to do now was find his way back to the car. Maybe Sam had backtracked and was waiting for him there.

Dean worked his way back through the trees and somehow managed to find the Impala still sitting where he left her. His hopes were dashed however when he did not see Sam anywhere in the vicinity. He squinted, rubbing his forehead.

Trudging to the car, he heard footsteps behind him. Praying it was Sam, he spun around, only to see a shotgun trained on him.

XXXX

"Look, I'm sorry about that. We just get a lot of riffraff around here. How do you take your coffee?"

The two of them sat inside a small ranger's station not far from where Dean's car was. The ranger, Eric Myers, moved toward a small kitchenette.

"With lots of whiskey."

Eric chuckled.

"Now you're a man I could get to know. How did you say you lost sight of your brother? He just dashed off in the woods?"

Dean nodded.

"Yeah. I mean my car stalled, which she never does, and when I was fixing to get her going again my brother had vanished. I took off after him through the woods and wound up in this clearing. It looked like a house used to be there at some point."

Eric handed Dean his Irish coffee and sat down. He sighed heavily.

"Mr. Winchester, I have been the ranger here for a good ten years now. Seen just about everything you could imagine. I know all the stories about this place."

Dean glanced up from his coffee.

"Stories, what stories would that be?"

Myers hesitated a moment.

"Well, you see, back in 1840, Jonathan Swift built a mansion up at the location you stumbled upon. It's all ruins now obviously and brings many a tourist or local hooligan thinking they can cause trouble. The crumbling pillars that used to be the entrance still stand, but are marred with graffiti."

Dean nodded in agreement.

"Now the rumors go that some time later, when the mansion was converted into an orphanage, something awful happened. There was a young boy there by the name of Jacob who was only seven at the time. He was a violent youth, apparently got in some dangerous fights with the other children. Swift never did have the upper hand with him no matter how he tried."

Eric swallowed hard. The words stuck in his throat. This was not a story he liked telling, even if he had told it over and over so many times. He never could get numb to it. He continued.

"One night young Jacob awoke in the middle of the night and decided to pull a bit of arson. The sad twist is that all the other children were in their beds at the time. So was Swift. No one made it out, not even Jacob. Everything burned to the ground that night. It was a tragedy."

Dean almost dropped his cup. That explained the smell he and Sam experienced. It would naturally have travelled for quite a distance. He instantly felt sick to his stomach. If only he knew where Sam was. He felt alone without him.

"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Eric instantly put a hand to his face. That was the wrong term to use.

"Well, in a manner of speaking. You mentioned the stench. Could it have carried for some distance?"

Myers thought about it and then nodded.

"Yes I suppose so. I know when houses burn they always talk about the smoke and flames being seen and smelled farther away than just at the site. So it is only logical that the smell of what went on there would have travelled on the wind all those years ago. Not that I want to imagine it mind you."

Dean agreed, but he didn't have to. This whole thing made him worry about Sam even more. Where could he be, and what could possibly be happening to him?

XXXX

Sam could smell it, almost taste the agony that surrounded him. His head was swimming and as he tried to put a hand to his head, he felt a strong tug. Adjusting his eyes to the near darkness, he saw that he was chained to the floor of…of what? Where in the hell was he, and how long had he been there?

Sam's mouth was dry and his stomach was empty, so wherever he was, it was long enough for him to have not had anything to eat or drink. Though with what he smelled in the distance, he was sure he would never eat again.

The smell filtered through his nostrils and lingered a bit too long. He gagged, hacked, and vomited. It was the same smell from before, but one hundred times worse.

He could hear scraping off to his left. It was hard to see anything even though his eyes had finally adjusted. He couldn't move that much had been established. The noise was coming closer, whatever it was, and it was beginning to drive him batty.

Sam gritted his teeth and waited. He prayed that whatever it was would go away, bypass the body sitting on the cold floor and find something else to target. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Moments passed when he let out a sharp yelp.

His eyes darted open and landed on something biting into his left leg. From where he sat he could just make out the outline of a small thing with legs. Sam's heart nearly exploded when he realized the object was a rodent, and it was snacking on his calf.

He attempted to kick at it, but he found that his legs were shackled to the floor as well, but with much shorter chains. Lifting his limbs was nearly impossible.

The biting stung, but there was nothing he could do about that. He couldn't lift his arms far enough to swat at the nuisance. All he could do was wait for the rat to let go and find something more delectable. Though from what he could perceive of the room he was trapped in, he suspected he was the only thing available.

Suddenly a door creaked open. Sam swallowed hard. His captor was coming for him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't defend himself, and he couldn't call Dean. He was stuck, literally.

The room was utterly silent, when Sam heard the rat squeal and smack against a far wall. Someone had kicked it off Sam's leg. His breath hitched. To say he was scared out of his mind was putting it mildly.

That same laughter bit into his brain and made him squint. He just wanted all this to end. He made a stupid mistake by taking off, and now he was going to pay for it with his life.

Sam opened his eyes, but soon realized that maybe keeping them closed wasn't such a bad idea.

The face in front of him was marred by shadows, but looked almost demonic. There was a wicked smile on his lips as he lifted his arm. What light there was caught a glimmer of a knife sitting in the figure's left hand.

"Once you get inside, you can never get out."

His voice was low and deliberate as the blade sliced at Sam's stomach.

Sam cried his brother's name, praying to God he would get there before it was too late.

* * *

A/N: Like I said, this is the beginning of the angst and suspense. I am not sure just yet how many chapters this story will be. I would like it to be a good 8 chapters at least, if I can drag out the angst and keep Sam and Dean separate long enough. I don't want to go for 5 chapters, that would be too small. I will have to see as I write it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I am _**sooooo**_ sorry for the long gap between chapters, but I have no real reason for that, hehe. Well, there is _one_ reason that I can give: I can't write Dean!

So I hope when you read this chapter you are truthful in your reviews about how I captured Dean, because I was having the hardest time with his emotional side. Like my friend Kathy said to me the other day: 'We now know how Dean would react to something bad happening to Sam, but we didn't then.' So we do already know Dean would sell his soul for his brother, but I can't have him do that of course, so how would he feel and think pre-AHBL Part 1-2?

It's just hard writing for someone so complex I guess.

Okay, enough of that drivel...I want to thank sendintheclowns for putting up with my analness as long as she has. Afer this story is over she might need to see a shrink :)

This chapter is all about emotion and angst, so it is kind of a downer when you think about it. Sorry that this is what the long wait gave you. Well, on with the show.

**Disclaimer:** I would put one, but I have already taken up too much of everyone's time with that up there.

* * *

Dean sat at the motel in front of Sam's laptop, his eyes stinging from staring too long. It was after midnight and he had looked up what information he could on Jacob, but most records from that era were either missing, or unobtainable. The most he got on Jacob was that indeed he was a seven year old child. He _had_ lived at the orphanage for a short time before the infamous fire. After that, all other information was very limited.

There was something that he did find after searching through the town's history. Apparently the children that had stayed on at the orphanage, the ones who could be identified, were buried in a small graveyard not far from the site. Maybe checking that out wouldn't be such a bad thing.

XXXX

Sam was slipping in and out of the darkness that folded over him like a shroud. His tongue was numb and his eyes burned. The smell was still pungent and stung his nose. His stomach was pulsing from the fresh wound. Everything that could go wrong had.

He chided himself over and over for running off like a small child after a ball in the street. He forgot to look both ways and had run head first into oncoming hell. Dean was never going to let this go, was going to give him hell for taking off without him. That was if he lived through all this.

Nothing made sense, nothing even mattered. He had been alone for the last hour, wondering where the psycho with the knife was. He had left Sam bleeding and screaming like a girl. That was when his friend with four legs came back and thought it nice to have a midnight snack. This time Sam was able to shove him off with his hands before he got what he came for.

Tears had been his only companion the last half hour. The whole situation was emasculating in so many ways, and Sam feared that if he stayed in this position any longer he would revert back to a child within a matter of hours.

Time was irrelevant here. The darkness made it impossible for him to even try and glance at his wristwatch, so the chances of keeping up with how long had passed was nil. The last timeframe he could remember was when they arrived at the bridge. He had sneaked a peak at his watch and it was just after nine. Now it could be just after that, or it could even be the next day for all he knew. It was pointless to even guess.

Sam lay on his back, tears slipping past his burning eyes and landing on the dirt encrusted floor.

XXXX

Dean shivered as he pulled up to the small cemetery gate. He was used to salting and burning corpses, but this just felt different. He glanced over to the passenger seat and where his brother should have been there was nothing but a stark void.

He gripped the steering wheel and sighed heavily. He closed his eyes not wanting to do this alone. It was something he _could_ do on his own, but didn't really want to under these circumstances. Sam was missing without a trace and here Dean sat unable to think straight.

He did know that he couldn't treat this as a regular case. It was too delicate. If one thing went wrong it could blow up in everyone's face.

Taking a deep breath he exited the vehicle, retrieving his supplies from the backseat. This was going to be a very long night.

He canvassed the gravestones for one with Jacob's name on it, until he reached a cluttered group by the back wall. They were crumbling and some were covered in ivy. There were maybe fifty markers for Dean to go through. He sighed once again and continued his search.

When he reached the very last grave marker, he could not find one with Jacob's name on it. He continued to hit wall after wall.

As he edged his way around the myriad of grave markers he stopped in front of one that had fallen over. For some unknown reason he stood it upright, when he was taken aback by the name on it. His eyes must have been playing tricks on him in the lack of light, because he could have sworn he had seen his own father's name on the grave stone.

Hitting it with his light, he saw that the name was John Winchell, not Winchester, but that was enough to send his mind reeling. He took a large step back and bit his bottom lip as the tension of the present and past collided.

Dean knew that this was not the time to have a retrospective, but his subconscious was working without any help from the rest of him. He did not like that feeling, but it was something he was going to have to get used to.

His thoughts danced around to his father and brother, how they used to be together when he was younger. It was never the Brady Bunch at their house. Those two never got along with each other unless they had to, and Dean always seemed to be thrust in the middle of every fight they ever had which was often.

Now the verbal and mental anguish that Sam had to put up with was one thing, but he wasn't all that innocent. He could be just as ruthless. When he and John would fight and everything had been said, Sam would rehash old issues all over again, causing John to become enraged. It never ceased.

It seemed as Sam grew the anger grew with him. It was as if he had some sort of chip on his shoulder that was impregnable. Something in him changed as he aged and that worried Dean. For all the anger that Sam did have, all his fight came out in words, which hurt much worse than if he had just hit someone.

Despite all that Sam had tried his damndest to be a good son. Yes he wasn't very even-tempered, but he was eager to please. John was a bastard, even Dean knew that. He'd never tell Sam that, but any man that trained his children to use a shotgun to ward off evil spirits had a few screws loose, no matter the reason behind it.

No matter how cruel or how hard John had been, it was nothing compared to how Dean was to himself.

His father died and he folded into himself like a turtle pulling into a shell. Sam needed him and he could only build up a wall. Maybe if he had been a better son, maybe if he had been a better leader Sam would have stayed. If he had been more focused like John had taught him they wouldn't be in this predicament. His sense of denial was beginning to get the better of him. He was contradicting himself at every turn, and that was not going to get him anywhere.

He had to think of Sam, the young man that was his to protect, who was out there somewhere hurting while he was fighting internally with himself.

Dean made a fist and dug it into his thigh. He clenched his teeth and stomped out of the graveyard. He just wanted Sam back safe and sound.

XXXX

"_Sam, you spent you're entire life slugging it out with that man, I mean hell you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him…"_

Sam could hear Dean's words resounding through his sleep deprived mind. So many emotions held him tightly, desperate to rip him apart. His breath was choppy from crying and he could feel warmth that lingered like fire and radiated around his midsection. In his splintered mind, Sam actually thought the rat was still gnawing at him.

Now he was starting to hallucinate. Maybe if he thought of something else, anything else, he could keep his composure.

His mind travelled back to the day when he confronted Dean in Bobby's salvage yard. It was only a few weeks prior, and Dean had constructed a shell to hide how he truly felt. Sam was sure he could break it, but had been unable to.

Sam failed to realize that Dean was much stronger than Sam gave him credit for. It was Sam who was weak, inside and out.

Then his mind switched back to the words Dean had said that day. An image of his father popped into his head. He never did master the man that was John Winchester. No matter what the man threw at him, he always fell short. He was always a failure.

Nothing pleased the man, nothing made him happy. Sam would win trophies for soccer, but John thought hunting was a better sport. Strike one for Sam.

When he tried to shoot a gun, and missed maybe one target out of ten, John would criticize and tell Sam he could have hit them all. Strike two for Sam.

The final straw was when Sam was accepted to Stanford after years of hard work. He had been a loyal student, despite the fact they moved constantly. Sam always strived for A's, never B's, and got himself a full ride. Yet did it get him any smiles or congrats from his old man? Not a one. In the end John decided it was time for Sam to get the hell out.

They fought for the last time and out he went, never to speak again for nearly 4 years.

Then only a month or so ago the man showed up out of nowhere, and the three of them fell right back into the same routine. Dean followed their father's orders like a good soldier while Sam had to sit idly by and take the crap like always.

He had had enough and let John have it, which in the end he regretted. It would be the last time he would ever see his father and now he might never see Dean again either.

Sam always seemed to pick fights with people before he left them, or at the very least, left them in a position where they wondered where they hell he was. Too many people ended up hurt that way.

He began to wonder if he was cursed or just bad luck. Either way it might be a good idea if whatever it was that had nabbed him to just rub him out. Everyone involved just might be better off.

Sam felt the tears again as the door creaked open. He yelled for Dean, the only thing his mind had left to hold on to as he felt the knife dig into his flesh once again.

XXXX

Tossing the flashlight back in the car, Dean heard a dull clunk. He hadn't heard it the last time he had flung it in the back seat, so what could have emerged in the last few hours?

Dean scanned the backseat and spotted something half under Sam's seat. He reached for it, pulling it out. In his hands he held a cassette tape, the same one that he had hurriedly catapulted into the backseat without a second thought.

He took a deep breath realizing how indifferent he had been.

_It wasn't Sam's fault that Dad was gone and it sure as hell wasn't Sam's fault Dad decided to leave me with the burden of some deep dark secret about my little brother. The man was a bastard and eventually his quest for 'Truth, Justice and the American Way' got him killed. Simple as that._

He was beginning to drive himself crazy wondering if he'd ever see Sam again. His mind kept going back to Sam, darting off after something in the woods. The fact that he just vanished into thin air made Dean worry all the more.

He just hoped that wherever Sam was, he was able to hold on long enough until Dean got there and that this freak wasn't using Sam for his own sick pleasures.

XXXX

"Stop it, please."

Sam begged for it to end, to cease. But the knife dug deeper into his back. He could feel the blood seeping down his skin and pooling onto the floor. The darkness made everything that much harder to deal. Though Sam felt that if the lights were on, he would have had a heart attack on the spot.

"Now you have to stop moving, or I might hurt you."

Sam feigned a laugh. _Hurt me? What the hell do you call this, tickling me?_

"Just let me go, I never did anything to you."

The knife slipped free of his lower back. Sam sucked air between his teeth as white spots danced before his eyes. Fire flashed across his back making his double over in pain. He gagged.

"Aw, poor thing."

Sam's captor patted him on the head like a Labrador. He smiled and then lifted Sam's head up.

"But you see I can't let you go, not yet. That is not until Dean gets here."

With that he stomped out leaving Sam in pain and his mouth hanging open.

XXXX

Dean needed a beer. He had to clear his head and settle his nerves. Sitting in front of the laptop and just being transfixed by it was not going to get Sam back any sooner.

He stood, his back groaning from sitting too long, and stepped to the mini-fridge. As he removed a beer, he noticed a small mirror perched over it.

He hadn't realized how stressed out he looked. Even though only a few hours had passed, his eyes were bloodshot; his face was pale. He looked as if he had aged five years.

Sam had gone missing before only a week ago when Lenore had taken him, but it was the history of this ghost that got to Dean, plus the fact that it was six hours later and not even a phone call. Sam was never one to not call. He was like a mother hen with that phone, had to check in every five seconds, make sure everything was on the up and up. That was how Dean knew Sam wasn't fine.

Dean had even checked his voice mail, just in case he had missed something, but there wasn't even a missed call. Now here he was, looking less than dapper, holding a cold beer and looking ready to scream.

He placed a free hand against the mirror and traced the outline of his face. When he got to his chin he looked down at the necklace Sam had gotten him. Dean was never one to be all warm and fuzzy about these things, but for an odd reason he felt a slight twinge of warmth go through him as he watched his hand slip to the strange idol dangling from his neck.

He had loved Sam from the day his mother said she was bringing him home, even if Dean secretly would have wanted a football instead. As soon as he saw that little Charlie Brown come through the door, he was hooked.

Sam had always been his to protect, even before he had to. When that night came, he was thrust into a role he wasn't ready for. He yelled and fought for years to get away from the little guy, but inside he wanted to be as close as he could to him. He was after all, his little Sammy.

Then when he had to drag him, once again, from his apartment 22 years later those feelings came back 100 times over. He had to save Sam at all costs, even if it meant losing his own life. That was what the job meant to him. It _was_ saving people, hunting things, but above all: Keep Sam safe.

Now here he was, standing, looking at his reflection, wondering if he could do it again. If he could find his brother before whomever, or whatever had him might ruin that for him.

He took a long swig of his beer, which in turn made his head spin, and then turned back to the computer. Maybe he wasn't looking in the right spot.

He set the beer down and began to scan through every site he could even think of. After a while they all started to meld together.

When Dean was into his third beer, he finally landed on a site that made him sit up and take notice. He downed the last of his beer and slammed it down. Shaking his head he sat back in his chair, his hands to his face.

"Oh Christ Sam. Eric was wrong, dead wrong."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Okay, again sorry for the very long stretch. I hate to leave you guys hanging like that, but my muse totally flew south for the winter. I think she finally decided to come back, I hope...

I promise to get the next chapter out much sooner. I want to get this all done by Jan. 15th, before SPN comes back. Plus I have another story in mind to work on after this one, and I really want to get to it. I just need to get this bad boy finished first.

Again, I thank sendintheclowns for her help. I truly needed it. Without her, I would still be struggling. Thanks Lisa!

* * *

The knife gleamed in the waning moonlight. Sam tried to squirm, but he was feeling increasingly weak from the blood loss. His captor felt it only right to let him slowly bleed to death.

"You see, I enjoy this immensely, but I would much more prefer if your brother were here. Two for the price of one is just a much better deal, don't you think?"

Sam groaned, yanking on his chains. If he had been smarter he would have brought his lock picks. Though if he had been smarter, he wouldn't have gotten himself into this in the first place.

"You don't want to know what I think; cause then you might have to kill me."

Laughter emanated from the stranger's throat.

"Oh young man, I plan on doing that anyway, so you might as well speak up now."

Sam swallowed hard. Anything he may have wanted to say had vanished.

"I thought not. Now, I'll be back later child. Don't go anywhere, understand?"

Sam looked at his shackles then up at the figure in front of him. More laughter danced around the room followed by the door opening. Sam heard nothing for a short while. It seemed as if his captor was standing in the darkness simply staring at him, waiting for him to snap.

When Sam finally heard the door crash shut he let go of the breath he didn't realize he had been holding and glanced around the room. He couldn't see anything in the pitch black, but that didn't mean anything. His thoughts started to race again. He had been stuck in that small room too long, bleeding and strapped to the filthy floor. Now was not the time to let his imagination get the better of him.

"Hurry Dean please, I don't think I can hold on much longer…"

XXXX

The ride to the clearing was somehow darker than before. Ignoring the fact that it was nearly four in the morning and the moon was gone; something else was at work here. The trees dipped over the road and almost touched the Impala, begging to rip it right off the road.

Once Dean reached the bridge he couldn't see even an inch in front of him. A fog had rolled in the instant the tires touched the metal structure.

Only driving a mere 5MPH Dean edged his way toward the clearing, surprised by the fact that the car hadn't stalled like she had last time. It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to get that gunk off her filter before he could get back to the motel. She was getting a lot of abuse as of late.

The closer he got to the clearing, the thicker the fog got. It enveloped the entire vehicle and Dean half expected gnarly looking pirates to leap out at him. He chuckled at the thought and felt like humming 'Blow the Man Down' when the fog lifted in one fell swoop.

"What the…?"

Dean squinted his eyes as he slowed the car to a stop at where he assumed the clearing was. Instead there stood a gigantic stone and mortar building that looked to be from the turn of the century. It gave him the creeps.

Exiting the vehicle, his bag in hand, he walked up the drive to the house he knew shouldn't be there. He had a rather good memory for these things, and this was where he ended on his run for Sam. There hadn't been anything here other than a crumbling stone pillar covered in ivy and graffiti. Something was very wrong here.

Stepping up on the porch, Dean eyed the place cautiously. He was sure Sam was inside, but he had to be ready for everything now.

Suddenly the front door swung open causing Dean to step back. He pulled out his gun and gingerly stepped inside.

There was no one in the entryway that could have opened the door and he hadn't hesitated long enough for anyone to get away. Flicking on his flashlight he stepped further in, avoiding a hole in the floor.

"Sammy, are you here?"

His call fell on deaf ears. He called a few more times without much success. _Man Sammy, I hope you're okay kid._

XXXX

The male body contained 12 pints of blood. Since Sam had been slowly bleeding like this for a few hours he probably still had plenty of blood left, but any quantity of blood loss was never good. Especially in the conditions he had been subjected to. That made everything that much worse.

Out of nowhere he heard what he thought was his brother's voice calling for him. His heart nearly stopped. Dean had found him and he could finally get out of this hell hole. He shouted Dean's name and waited. Nothing happened. Either Dean hadn't heard him, or he hadn't yelled loud enough.

He tried again and again with the same results. By this time every breath was beginning to be a struggle. His pulse was testing the boundaries, and he was starting to see spots. If he shouted like that once more, he would probably pass out.

He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and waited.

XXXX

The living room was in disarray. The minimal amount of furniture there was was covered in layers of dirt and grime, the fireplace was filled with soot and other items Dean would rather not want to mess with. As he neared the hearth, he spotted something that was out of place in the broken down shack.

Lying next to a footprint in the dirt was a melted watch. Dean picked it up and was instantly sick to his stomach. He saw that it belonged to the man whose wife they had visited. Aidan Moriarty had been here as well, and this wasn't a good sign of what was left of him.

Dean shoved the watch into his jacket pocket. It was only right that his wife get that back and that she know what happened to her husband. Dean would want to know had that been Sam. The problem was what _had_ happened?

As he stood, he caught a figure out of the corner of his eyes. He turned to see a small boy standing at the bottom of the stairs.

He seemed to stare through Dean, his eyes sunken. He was pale and smelled of smoke, and his clothes were burned.

"Are you Jacob?"

The boy ignored Dean's inquiry and continued to stare off. When Dean stepped forward, his gun raised, the boy's eyes shifted. Dean caught this, and tried his question again.

"I repeat, are you Jacob?"

The boy merely nodded.

"Where's my brother? Is he okay?"

The boy pointed upwards then took off up the stairs like a bullet. Dean groaned and rushed after him.

XXXX

Dean edged his way down the upstairs hallway, listening intently for someone or something. He hoped he could find Sam, and soon. The sun would be up in a couple hours and Dean wanted to get this over now before even more time passed.

He stopped in front of one door, testing to see if it was locked. It wasn't, so he slowly opened it. He threw a hand to his face as a familiar smell invaded his nostrils: Death and decay. It took all the strength he had to keep back the vomit that was threatening to pass his lips.

Dean stepped further into the room and could hear a soft whimper coming from a far corner of the room.

"Sam?"

The sound stopped and was followed by a loud rattle of chains.

"Dean…is that really you?"

Dean's knees gave and he almost hit the floor. He gripped the doorjamb trying to keep himself steady.

"Yeah Sammy…"

He fumbled for his flashlight and swung it in that direction. His heart immediately sank.

Sam sat in the corner of the room, pale and gaunt, chained to the floor. What hit Dean more than all that was the blood that had marred his shirt. It wasn't just a small amount. It looked as if someone had sliced the poor kid open like a thanksgiving turkey.

"Sam…"

Dean could feel his throat locking. There was his brother sitting on a filth ridden floor bleeding for some unknown reason. Dean completely lost it when Sam started rambling.

"He's here Dean. He's trying to kill me. I think he wants me to go insane or something I don't fucking know. I don't think he even left the room, I keep hearing him sneak around like a goddamned mouse looking for a scrap of food. I'm losing it Dean; I need to get the hell out of here before I slip off the deep end."

Dean rushed to his brother's side and gripped his arms tight. Sam's eyes were wide and staring at nothing. He began to mumble incoherently about the 'man in the room' even though he and Sam were the only people in there.

"Sam, can you hear me? Kiddo, are you okay?"

Sam was shaking his head and yanking at the chains completely ignoring Dean at this point.

"Sam, you have to calm down. Please, just…"

Dean still held Sam's arms tight. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to strike Sam, to knock him back to reality, but in his present condition that might just make things worse.

He pulled back and concentrated on the chains that held Sam in place. They were old, turn of the century old, and didn't seem all that easy to break out of. Dean held his light in his teeth and took out his lock pick. He tested the locks, but his first thoughts had been right. He would have to have the actual key to get these bad boys off.

Letting the chains fall to the floor, Dean watched Sam calm a bit. He looked at Dean this time, really noticing him.

"Dean, get me out of here, please. If he comes back, he said something about hurting us both. We don't have much time."

Sam lifted his shirt, groaning, and Dean gasped. The bloody shirt was one thing, but the cuts were altogether another.

They weren't fresh, that was for sure. They looked several hours old and already infected. The one to Sam's stomach was cherry red and on the edges had started to turn a dark purple, almost black. If he left it too long sepsis could set in and Sam would die. He was already weak Dean could see that much, and it seemed that the blood loss had affected his mind just a bit.

"Christ Sam. How long ago did this all happen?"

Sam shrugged, lowering his shirt. He had lost track of time hours ago.

"I haven't a clue. What time is it now?"

Dean flashed the light at his watch. It was almost four in the morning, but he swore it was much later.

"Nearly quarter to four."

"A.M.?"

Dean nodded.

Sam counted off the hours on his hands and then made a nasty face. He had been laying on that floor for close to seven hours, bleeding to death.

"Dean I…"

Sam stopped mid speech when his eyes shifted toward the door. Dean kept his own trained on Sam. He wasn't sure if Sam had gone off again or not, so he merely waited. When Sam continued to stare he assumed Sam had just blanked out.

"Sam, hey are you okay?"

Sam said nothing when he suddenly yanked at his chains again.

"Dean, he's here. Get out of here, NOW!"

Dean turned around. Standing by the door was Sam's captor. Before Dean could pick up his gun he was knocked backwards beside Sam.

The last thing he heard before everything faded away was a laughter that slipped into his very bones.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay...I got Chapter 5 out a hell of lot quicker than I thought I would. Now I hope this is a good chapter because I did not even put this one past my beta, so she will be as surprised as the rest of y'all. I know this one is a bit shorter than the rest of the chapters (and I have been noticing a pattern there, hehe) but I think this one has the most action in it thus far.

Hope you enjoy it, and keep up the reviews. There should be one/two more chapters and I will finally be done! Glad you all stuck with me on this crazy journey!

* * *

Faint light flooded past his half-closed eyes. There was a dull ache behind them which made it hard to keep them open.

Dean lifted a hand to the back of his head and felt a large goose egg. He sucked air between his teeth. For a dead guy, he really packed a wallop.

He turned to his left and saw his brother still beside him, yet now he looked even worse.

His eyes were terribly blood shot, his face was as white as snow, and there was a new cut to his chest. Sam was struggling to breathe and every breath came out as a wheeze.

Dean glanced at his watch and cringed. It was almost eight A.M.

A hand instantly went to his face. He had been unconscious for four hours while that beast did this to his Sammy. _That bastard was going to pay for this_.

"Ah, so I see you're awake my son."

The sun streaked through a small window and landed on the man standing in front of them.

He was most likely 65 years old but looked much older. Long white hair that almost touched his shoulder blades made him look scarier than he already did if that was possible. His dark brown eyes were sunken in to the point of being almost non-existent. He was terribly thin and gangly and smelled of smoke and rotting flesh. The smell must have permeated itself in his clothes from years before he died, because he was neither burned nor decaying.

Dean glared heavily. Had it been the small child Dean would have been screaming 'The Bad Seed' or even 'The Omen' right about now, but instead it was Jonathan Swift himself who stood in front of Dean, smiling from ear to ear.

"I'm not your son you sick twisted son of a bitch. Now you let my brother go before he bleeds to death."

Swift shook his head, waving a blood soaked knife. He stepped in front of Dean.

"Oh dear boy, I can't do that. You see, I need you. Both of you actually."

Dean's pulse quickened and his breathing sped up. He was in no mood for this.

"Why? So you can cut us up just for the sheer joy of it? I don't think so."

Swift chuckled.

"There's much more to it than that my child. You see, orphans are a specialty of mine, and the fact that I found two in the same family, well…"

Dean furrowed his brows.

"What the hell do you mean by 'orphans'? My brother and I aren't…"

"Oh, but you are. You see, you lost your mother at the tender age of 4, and then, not so long ago you lost your father. So I think that would qualify you as an orphan, does it not?"

Dean looked at Sam whose eyes were glazed over. He was beginning to fade fast. Dean had to get out of there quick before it was too late.

"Okay, so that's your reasoning for going after us, Aidan and all the other missing people. We were simply orphans?"

Swift shook his head.

"You all had dark and delicious pasts that I just had to devour."

As he said this, his eyes were fluttering and he was licking his lips. Dean felt his stomach lurch. Now he knew what had happened to Aidan.

"You're fucking sick, you know that?"

Swift stopped his lecherous act and stepped toward Dean the knife at his throat.

"Watch your tongue boy, or I just might mind it for you!"

Dean pulled back. Swift teased the knife at Dean's throat as if he was going to cut him and then stepped back.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes. Before I was so rudely interrupted…"

He looked at the knife a moment and then back at Dean.

"You know, I think maybe you need to feel a bit of what our boy Sam here is feeling. Don't you?"

Swift spun the knife in his hand before slipping it into Dean's left shoulder. Dean's screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Swift grinned.

"Yes, that's what I want to hear. Scream for me. Let the sound flow freely child. Don't be afraid to let everything go."

He dug the knife deeper into Dean's flesh hitting bone. Dean yelled louder. Swift gripped the back of Dean's neck and whispered in his ear.

"You're at the threshold Dean, what do you do?"

Dean gritted his teeth, breathing hard.

"I kick the doorman's ass."

Dean lifted his good arm and socked Swift in the face knocking him backwards. That gave him enough time to yank the knife from his shoulder. It took a bit of work, but he worked it free. He grunted as the blade slid past the bone and out of the skin.

Dean lunged at Swift knocking him down. They rolled around on the floor until Dean ended on top.

"Let my brother go you bastard."

Swift simply smiled.

"Oh, I don't think that's an option child. I already told you why."

Dean growled. He was beginning to lose what patience he had left with this guy.

"Yeah, and I didn't like your reason then, and I don't like it now."

Dean lifted the knife, which gave Swift the opportunity to knee him in the stomach. Dean grunted, landing backwards. The knife skidded out of Dean's grasp.

"You know, I like fighting with you. You are so much more of a challenge. Plus, you have so many more weaknesses."

Swift's eyes darkened and he flung himself at Dean lifting him off the floor and tossing him against a far wall.

"For instance, you can bleed!"

Dean hit the floor grabbing at the back of his head. He was sure he was going to pass out yet again. Swift headed for the knife gripping it tightly in his hand.

Dean spotted his bag sitting only a foot from him. If he grabbed it in time he could get his shotgun and at least make Swift disappear for a short while. It was all he had to work with right now, but it was better than nothing.

"You see, orphans make much better prey simply because no one comes looking for them. They have no family, no home, and no life. I generally prefer them a bit younger, but at this point, why squabble over the details?"

Swift took a deep breath. He had his back to Dean. Good thing for Dean the man was in his own little world. If he could just reach the bag without getting caught. Just a little further. He could just reach the straps.

"I just think that…what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Swift had spun around just as Dean reached the bag straps. Dean yanked the bag toward him hurriedly digging for the gun. Before Swift could get to him Dean had the gun in his hands.

Dean lifted the gun, training it on Swift. The man smiled.

"You think a simple shot gun is going to do anything to hurt me?"

Dean cocked it.

"It is when it's full of rock salt."

Swift's eyes went wide as Dean let off a shot. Swift vanished in a puff of black smoke quickly followed by an echoing scream.

Dean tossed it to the floor and ran to his brother's side. Was he too late, had he been able to save Sam?

Sam's head bounced like a bobble head and his eyes could barely stay open. Dean shook Sam hard yelling for him to stay awake, that he needed to stay awake.

Sam heard Dean's voice, but it was coming to him from so far away he wasn't sure he was hearing it.

His vision was fading and everything was distorted. Colors were starting to melt away to grays and blacks. It was like watching a very old film.

He thought he saw Dean grabbing for him, trying to work the chains loose, but in his warped mind he wasn't even sure Dean was still really there at all. He tried to call out the man's name, but all it came out as was a croak, nothing more.

"Christ, how the hell am I going to do this without the goddamned keys?"

Dean yanked, pulled and jerked until his hands were sore. He knew that Swift wasn't gone and would be back soon even more pissed off, but all that mattered was getting Sam to safety. That was all that ever mattered.

"Dean…"

Sam struggled to speak. Dean waved him off.

"Shut up kid. You keep your strength up while I work on this here. You're bleeding too bad to even think. So just be quiet okay?"

Sam shook his head and reached for Dean's hand.

"Dean, stop."

Dean looked up at Sam whose eyes were full of sorrow. It was not something he liked to see in his brother's eyes. He knew at that very moment his mirrored Sam's.

"Stop what Sam? I have to get you out…"

Sam's hair filtered into his eyes, blocking his view. He took a ragged breath.

"Just go, let me die here."

Dean's face grew hot. His hands turned to fists.

"Don't you do that, don't you fucking do that. You are not dying here, not on my watch and not because you say so."

Dean returned to the shackles and continued to fight with them. He stopped only a moment when he heard Sam begin to sob. He felt a tear slide down his own face. He wanted to wipe it away, but ignored it. Biting his top lip, he went back to the task at hand despite the pain that was biting at his left shoulder.

"Goddamn it!"

Dean threw the shackles down, feeling defeated. He knew he needed that key, but in the heat of the moment he thought he could pry them open somehow. It had been futile of course. He sat back wondering how he was going to get Sam out of this when Sam began to hyperventilate.

"Sam? Sammy?"

Sam grabbed at his chest which was bleeding even more than it had been previously. His shirt was soaked with blood as were his jeans. When Dean grabbed for him, his skin was now cold and clammy. Sam was going into shock.

"Jesus Christ."

Dean pulled on the chains again, this time it was more out of anger than to get Sam free. Dean stared as his brother's eyes opened wide and then rolled backwards. Sam's body shook violently. Dean grabbed for him to stop him from slamming his head against the wall.

Dean was scared out of his mind. He didn't know what to do, what to expect. When Sam stiffened and slid to the floor Dean could only watch as his brother's eyes became void of all life.

* * *

A/N: I realized something after writing this chapter. The bad Guy, Jonathan Swift, his name was supposed to be Joseph Swift (which was the real creepy guy who owned the Gore Orphanage) but I screwed up his first name. Oh well, hehe.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Here is the final chapter of this story. You waited long enough for it, and I hope the wait was worth it :) I was planning on 2 chapters, but this couldn't be ripped into two separate chapters respectfully enough, so it had to be one long one. In the end, I hope I ended it well enough and that the characters were as close to canon as possible. I tried my damnedest to get Dean right, and I hope I did.

This chapter was all about Dean (for those of you that remember how I ended the last chapter, hehe) so again, I hope I did him justice.

Enjoy, and soon I will be working on my next story called 'Retrograde.' That is where Dean is slowly losing his memories, but there is a very killer twist. Stay tuned for that one. I promise to get that one out faster than I did this one! :)

* * *

"13, 14, 15…"

By this time Dean had already been performing CPR for a good 5 minutes without much success. Sam's eyes were blankly staring at the ceiling and all of Dean's pushing on his chest was futile.

"Goddamn it Sam. I already lost dad. I can't lose you."

He pounded a fist onto his brother's chest which only caused Sam's body to bounce but nothing more.

Dean sat back against a wall, hitting it hard, ignoring the searing pain in his left shoulder. Sam was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had failed. Tears streamed down his cheeks mixing with the dirt and blood on the floor.

"Swift, we never did anything to you."

Dean sniffed. He hit the wall again. When a sharp jolt dug into his shoulder he bit his lip hard. Dean closed his eyes letting the pain subside. When he opened his eyes, he looked at Sam.

"I'll make this right Sam, don't you worry. We'll get out of this, no matter what."

He gripped Sam's lifeless hand tight catching sight of the handcuffs. He still had to get his brother free if he wanted to get him out of this hellhole.

"I'll be back Sam. I just, I just have to find a way out of here. I won't leave you here I promise."

He let his brother's hand drop. Dean wiped at his eyes. He realized that he had been making a lot of promises lately and up to this point none of them had been kept. He did not like that because it was not how he was. Dean always stayed true to his word no matter the consequences. He promised to keep Sam safe, promised to look after him no matter what and look what happened? He died on Dean's watch.

Sam looked so peaceful, so angelic lying on the floor despite the blood caked to his clothing. Dean placed a hand to his face, choking back more tears and reached for his gun.

Dean glanced at Sam once more and headed out into the hallway praying he could find Swift before he came back for Sam.

XXXX

The light was comforting but at the same time depressing. The hours had passed by so fast while he had been unconscious, had marched on without warning. He welcomed the warmth that beat down on his exposed skin, yet also shunned it. It was a cruel joke and he wanted no part of it.

Dean sighed heavily as he passed through the upstairs hallway scanning through various rooms for a hint of that monster. There had been no sign of him since Dean had loaded him with rock salt. He knew Swift wasn't dead because rock salt was just a deterrent. Swift would merely have slipped away to lick his wounds and now he was probably even more pissed than before. Just what Dean needed to do: Add fuel to the inferno.

Dean slipped down the stairs, this time with a little more ease so as not to alarm anyone that might be listening, and made his way to the living room. He had to find those keys because there was no way he could unlock the cuffs himself. He was a master lock picker, but even his skills went only so far.

He stopped just outside the living room. The atmosphere was dark and full of angst. He found it hard to breathe. Something was wrong with this area of the house and it wasn't just because of what he had found hours earlier, there was a deeper threat in the inner room of the mansion that sent a cold wave up Dean's back.

With his gun at the ready, Dean edged his way in sneaking glances at every corner of the room. Every noise made him jump and he almost shot the tattered drapes that blew in the morning breeze. Calming himself and wishing this would just end already, he moved toward the fireplace.

Dean leaned the gun against the crackled marble and checked the mantle for any sign of keys. He had no clue where they would be, or if they even existed. Swift might be the only thing to be able to open the shackles and keys were obsolete. But at this point Dean couldn't overlook anything.

He ran a hand through three layers of dirt but found only that. There had to be more places to look, other hiding places. _If I were a sick psychopath, where would I hide a set of keys? Though if I were a sick psychopath, I would have bumped myself off years ago._

He picked up the gun turning slowly. There was no one behind him which was beginning to bother him. All the rooms he had searched upstairs, all the noise he was sure he had made up there and the time he had spent, he was sure Swift would have come for him by now. What was taking the guy so long? Why was he playing with him?

Dean shook it off and headed for the kitchen keeping an eye on his surroundings as he did so.

Inside he was bombarded with a stench that almost knocked him on his ass. He had smelled that earlier and when they first came to town. It was burnt flesh.

Dean placed a hand to his face and moved further into the square room.

There were large pots and pans that were filled with strange stews. What looked like meat was floating in a dark red broth. Dean gagged.

"You really are a sick fuck aren't you John Boy?"

He passed by the stove trying desperately to keep his stomach from escaping through his lips when he spotted a set of keys on a hook by the fridge. He shut his eyes tight thanking God. Re-opening his eyes, he swiped the keys and rushed out of the kitchen unaware that Swift had been watching his every move from behind the kitchen door.

XXXX

"Sam, I got 'em, I can get you out of here kiddo."

Dean dangled the keys in front of Sam's lifeless eyes. Dean knew he wouldn't respond, but to him it was the principle of the thing.

He laid his gun beside Sam and fiddled with the keys. There were five on the ring, all antique so it was going to take a minute to see which one fit.

Getting it on the third key, Dean almost giggled. He yanked the cuffs off his brother's arms and pulled Sam to his chest. He was like a rag doll, but at least he could hold him without anything interfering.

"I swear to you that I'll make Swift pay for this."

As he set Sam back on the floor to work on his ankle cuffs, he heard a familiar laugh that set his teeth on edge.

"Oh dear child, I don't think so. You see, I have one of your souls already. I can break you just as easy, in fact in your present state, you might break too easy. No challenge in something that doesn't fight back. Sort of lacks a little, what you call, fun."

Dean turned from his brother. The man was standing in the doorway smiling like a mental patient. Dean had had enough of this cat and mouse crap. It was time to get down to brass tacks and deal with this like men.

He slowly reached for his gun and pointed it at Swift. He had a score to settle. This had just become personal. Hell had no fury like a Winchester brother scorned.

"Okay Swift, you want a fight? Fight this."

The gun exploded, a shell left the barrel at an alarming rate and spun toward Swift's face. He cackled and burst into a cloud of smoke. Dean raised his eyebrows as he wondered where he had gone.

He didn't have long to wonder when Swift reappeared in front of him.

"Try again."

He slammed into Dean throwing him against the wall, and disappeared again. Dean slid down the wall feeling dizzy. The gun had dropped to the floor where he had been thrown from. It was a good six feet away.

He sat there a moment when Swift materialized in front of him. He yanked Dean up by the throat. Dean coughed and dug at Swift's hands without much success. His feet kicked the wall looking for the safety of the floor below.

"Keep fighting Dean. The more you fight the more your lungs struggle to get air. Your heart stops pumping which in turn causes you to succumb to blood loss. If you want to end up like Sammy over there, then keep fighting. Just kick and scream, let it all out, because in the end we all die alone. Don't we Dean? You sure will now."

Dean stopped kicking, stopped fighting. He stared into Swift's eyes. The darkness held a glimmer of truth and something Dean knew in his own soul. The bastard knew it and he was using it against him.

"No one should ever die alone." Dean croaked out.

Swift grinned.

"It's inevitable my dear boy. And when you realize this fact you will be able to give me what I want, what I so desperately need."

Dean kept staring into the man's eyes when something past him caught his attention. Dean's eyes grew wide as he saw his shot gun rise.

"Put him down now Mr. Swift."

Swift spun not expecting to be interrupted by anyone. When he saw the small child holding a gun that was almost as big as he was, he laughed.

"Jacob you insolent boy. You better put that down before you hurt someone."

Jacob cocked the gun which made Swift twitch ever so slightly. His grip on Dean broke and he slid to the ground rubbing his throat. Jacob took the opportunity to let off a shot. It slammed into Swift causing him to splatter into dust yet again.

"How did you…?"

The boy shook his head.

"We don't have time. He'll be back. Just take your brother and get out of here."

Dean opened his mouth but said nothing. It wasn't everyday a seven year old ghost gave you orders. It was a bit off putting.

Dean lifted Sam over his right shoulder and headed downstairs. They had to get out that much was abundantly clear. Once in the living room the same feeling that came upon him from before was back tenfold. He felt nauseous, light headed, and dizzy. He nearly toppled into the fireplace trying to get to the front doors.

Setting Sam by the doors, he placed his hands on his knees and tried to collect himself. Yet the room was spinning and his head was like a balloon full of helium. He gripped the door frame tight and watched the floor come to meet him head-on.

XXXX

It was dark and Dean could hear crickets. He rubbed his forehead and prayed for a bottle of Aspirin or maybe a bottle of Whisky. It could use either one right about now. Looking around he realized he had been out for quite some time and gauging by the numbers on his watch it had been…only fifteen minutes? Yet that was impossible. It was dark out and he heard crickets. Something wasn't right here.

He turned back to the door to see that Sam was missing. _That bastard must have taken him while I was asleep. Shit!_

Standing, careful not to crash back to the floor, he edged his way up the stairs to where Sam had been held. Maybe Swift had taken Sam back there.

As Dean reached the top of the stairs he heard a voice coming from that very room. He leaned against the door trying to hear what was being said.

"Jacob, go to bed now and that's an order."

Dean's ears perked at the familiar voice, though it had a different timbre to it. It did not sound as dark and violent. _What was going on here?_

Dean slid into the darkness to avoid detection as footfalls crossed the room. The door opened and Swift stepped out and from what light there was Dean could see Swift standing holding a cigarette in his left hand. He looked different. If it hadn't been for his eyes Dean would have sworn he was looking at a complete stranger.

Maybe Dean had hit his head harder than he thought because Swift actually looked younger. Dean shook his head but the man in front of him still looked the same. It had to be a hallucination of some sort. That was the only explanation.

Swift put out his cigarette and headed for the stairs.

Dean stepped out from his hiding place, still a bit confused. He wasn't sure of anything when Jacob exited his room.

"Jake, where's my brother? I have to get out of here."

The boy ignored him so Dean called his name again. Still nothing. This time Dean grabbed at him and his hand went right through.

_What the hell is going on here?_

XXXX

He followed Jacob down the stairs and on the return trip he realized something. The stairs were in good shape. They weren't rotted out or creaking. They actually looked new. He hadn't noticed that the first time because he was still a bit dizzy and out of it, but they were quite pristine.

In fact, the whole building was. Things were beginning to get stranger and stranger by the minute.

"Jake, are you doing this? Cause if you are, I'd like to be in on it really. This whole Punk'd deal ain't my style kid."

Jacob continued to ignore him. Dean rolled his eyes and followed the boy into the living room. Jacob stopped in front of the kitchen door and listened intently. Dean mirrored his actions and could hear someone banging pots around and water running.

"Damn rotten kids. If only they did as they were told I wouldn't have to punish them like this."

It was Swift. Dean heard a pot slam against the kitchen door causing Jacob to step back. The boy swallowed hard and pushed open the door.

"Mr. Swift, we need to speak."

Swift spun around. He was holding a knife in his left hand. There was blood on it. Dean made a face.

"Oh I don't think so Jacob. I think you need to get back to bed."

At this point Dean realized the older man couldn't see him because he was standing in the doorway and he hadn't even acknowledged his presence, or he didn't care.

"I know what you've been doing, and you have to stop."

Swift grinned.

"Oh, really, do you now? What could a seven year old child possibly know?"

Jacob sighed heavily.

"I know that Xander never made it back from the market last Thursday and ever since then you have been extremely busy in here. I may be a child, but I am no retard."

Swift glared at the boy in front of him.

"Well then, if you think you know so damned much, why don't you find him yourself?"

With that, Swift plunged the knife into Jacob's stomach. The boy screamed out in pain knocking a small pot to the floor. The contents spilled at Swifts feet.

Jacob fell to the floor crawling out into the living room, Swift right behind him.

"Disobedient children deserve everything they get."

Jacob crawled to the fireplace hearth, blood pooling underneath him. He struggled to breathe blood bubbling at the corners of his lips. Dean could only watch on unable to do anything.

"My child, the fight is almost over, let it linger as long as God wills it and then let your body succumb."

Jacob hacked staring into the fire.

"You know nothing of God."

Jacob reached for a burning log and tossed it at Swift's feet. He watched the flames lap at the oil that had fallen from the pot and consume him. Dean's eyes widened as the flames danced around Swift's body.

They soon enveloped the house and every person inside, trapping them forever in a fiery tomb.

XXXX

Dean awoke to the smell of smoke. He coughed and wiped at his eyes. He looked toward the living room to see everything back the way it was. Yet everything was devoid of fire and smoke. It was just residual from the vision. But that was too damned real to be just any ordinary vision. It was as if he were there. He could smell the food cooking in the kitchen, the blood on the knife, the fire and Swift's flesh burning afterwards.

But now he knew how everything happened, how Swift died and how all this started. Now he just needed to end it.

Standing, he caught site of Jacob leaning against the wall by the kitchen. He noticed Dean and headed toward him.

"I see you're awake. Sorry about that, but I had to show you what happened and I think I was a little heavy handed on the vision. You're the first person to ever get to see what I had to go through that night. You see, no one ever lasted long enough, either mentally or physically, to see it."

Dean squinted.

"So you're telling me that that's why you bring people here? To tell them about Swift so they can help you?"

Jacob nodded.

"In a manner of speaking. It's also to help them. If they know the truth, they can help themselves as well. I tried so hard to get into your brother's head but he had already slipped by the time I got to him. I didn't have a chance. Swift is just so fast anymore. It gets harder and harder every year. That is, until I met you. There's something about you that he couldn't crack. You're a fighter, and no matter what he says, he truly hates that."

Dean rubbed at his face. This was all a little crazy, yet at the same time it all made perfect sense. Swift kept yelling for him to fight, to struggle, but that made no sense. Why would he want a fighter when he was tearing Sam to shreds like that? He wanted it to end as quickly as possible.

"So now we have to figure out how to kill the guy, 'cause I mean my gun only pisses him off and I can only touch him on his terms. The most obvious is fire, but sometimes we have to think zebras instead of horses, you know what I mean?"

Jacob nodded

"I do. Though I don't really think it's fire completely. It's…"

Before Jacob could finish he was thrust against a far wall. Swift stood in front of Dean, scowling.

"You just won't give up, will you? I guess I have to teach you the finer art of dying don't I?"

He lifted Dean off the floor.

"Disobedient children deserve everything they get."

Dean instantly snapped back to the vision. _That was what would kill him, someone like Jacob, someone with the balls to stand up to Swift and take him down._

Dean let go of Swift's grip to his throat and whacked him with both hands to the neck. Swift dropped Dean to the floor and stepped backward. He growled.

"You little prick. You will not get away with this."

Dean stood staring the man down. He could tell that he was breaking down the facade Swift had so carefully placed for himself. It was crumbling like the edifice that surrounded them both. If not in his demeanor, it certainly read in his eyes. Dean had him right where he wanted him, and it wasn't what Swift liked at all. To lose your footing after a century of being on top to a man with nothing to lose, that had to be eating him alive.

"You might think you have the upper hand, but I know one thing you don't."

Swift laughed, but it did not sound very genuine.

"Oh, and what would that be my boy?"

Dean looked behind him at the fireplace that was now ablaze. He smiled.

"You're about to, how do you say, fry."

He shoved Swift backwards who swung his arms trying to grab at anything without much success. He landed in the fire screaming like a banshee, the flames engulfing him.

XXXX

Outside, his brother lying beside him, Dean realized even after slaying the beast, he hadn't truly won anything. Sam was still dead and he was finally alone. He couldn't get his brother back and life meant nothing anymore.

He sat on the wet grass staring into the sun waiting to go blind. It didn't matter if he did.

As he stared for a while, something blocked his view. He blinked but it did not move. He looked and was surprised to see Jacob standing before him.

"I just wanted to say how sorry I am for everything that happened. I feel responsible."

Dean shook his head.

"No. No one was at fault but Swift. You were just an innocent like the rest of us."

Jacob sat beside Dean and looked at Sam. He smiled.

"I can save him you know, if you want me to."

Dean sat at attention.

"Are you serious? I, of course I want you to. He's my brother and he means everything to me."

He bit his lip trying not to cry again. To hear that his brother was going to be coming back to him was more than he could handle.

"You saved me, so I believe it only fair that I return the favor."

Jacob blinked and then touched Sam's forehead. Nothing happened, at least that Dean could see. A moment later Sam's eyes fluttered, his chest started to rise and fall and he began to cough and wheeze. Dean almost hyperventilated when Sam tried to sit up.

"Dean…"

Dean looked up at Jacob and then back at Sam.

"He's okay now. Again, thank you."

Before Dean could thank him back Jacob had vanished.

"Dean…where am I?"

Dean grabbed his brother and held him tight. Sam hacked again and struggled to breathe in Dean's grasp. He didn't care, Sam was back and that was all that mattered.

"Don't worry about that now. I'm just gonna get you home."

Sam pulled away from Dean's squeeze. He shielded his eyes from the sun that poured down on top of them. He looked at his watch which read nearly 8:30 in the morning. He had been gone for almost 12 hours. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The smell of smoke filtered into his nostrils making him swallow hard. He saw flames and heard screams that weren't there. He pushed back on the grass causing Dean to grab for his arms yet again.

"You're with me Sammy, everything's okay. And I promise to never let you out of my sight again."

Sam nodded, but he knew that the emotional and physical trauma was imbedded in his soul forever, never to be wiped clean.


End file.
